


Ashes & Aftermath

by blackberry_pop



Category: Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: #MementoMori, Angst, Gen, Rituals, platonic (and romantic) soulmates, post channel deletion, subtle supernatural elements, this is just depressing but whats new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_pop/pseuds/blackberry_pop
Summary: It's never about those who died.It's the people left behind...
Relationships: Ethan Nestor & Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor/Amy Nelson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Ashes & Aftermath

The warehouse was cold. Empty.

Life was plenty different this year, forever changed, but none of them figured they’d actually find an abandoned building so easily. Properties were being sold left and right, it was a buyer’s market, after all, so they half expected to find a for sale sign or a _coming soon_! poster to greet them when they eventually made it back here. And even if my some miracle the place _remained_ empty, the weather was changing, squatters could have flooded in and turned it into a comfortable living space.

But no one had come, not in the six weeks since they’d discovered it.

And now, it was ready to serve its purpose.

The squeal of chalk echoed loud against high ceilings, more familiar than annoying. Delicate hands made quick work of illustrating, inscribing translated languages and writing in runes with the utmost care.

The room developed a layer of smoke, thin but noticeable in the slivers of sunlight straining through high windows, as two, three, four bags were emptied in four individual sections of the markings spread across the concrete floor. A forgotten push broom, soft with wood rot and old age made certain each pile was even, properly placed.

Then there was dragging, and scraping, so loud it was a marvel no one came in to investigate. It took a long time to properly place them, longer than what was desired. Every second wasted, every moment of pause between the music being created, it weighed down. Each second eaten a mistake, nerve-racking, and yet so necessary. By the time everything was finally, _finally_ in place, the sun’s rays were piercing blood red through the walls of their chosen space.

Some time later, when the sun was finally too low to illuminate the warehouse, a revival of movement.

The click of heels.

The slosh of liquid trapped within a container.

Then the distinct sound of it hitting concrete, wood, sand.

A _dangerously_ familiar scent.

The clatter of the container hitting the floor was nearly deafening.

The darkness of the warehouse wasn’t absolute, even after the sun gave out its final breath, streetlights creating just enough of a dimness so a few things remained visible. That had been a concern of theirs, that having to do this at night might not be possible, despite it being a requirement. Nightfall was just one ingredient, but the rest that came were just as necessary.

So it was good, then, that Amy could still see.

She could finish it. Finish everything for them.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, so she let it clatter to the ground, not even bothering to see what the world wanted.

The world didn’t matter. Not now.

She sighed, shook her shoulders, tucked hair behind her ears. Her neck tickled, the earrings she wore were shaking with the movement of her body. She felt a little ridiculous dressing nice, especially since her typical wardrobe didn’t consist of heels or anything that was fancy or form-fitting, but it was what they wanted. Her best dress, as if this were a day to look _pretty_ for.

A moment was stolen, consumed, as she took in the scene before her. It felt surreal, the array she’d drawn, the materials she’d placed. Even in semi-darkness, there was the intimidating presence of two coffins. It didn’t feel like she had been the one to do it, to set everything up. The more they pontificated about time, the less real it felt, Amy’d discovered that long before today had come.

Her phone vibrated again, she needed to focus.

She swallowed, but walked forward, into the chalk-white circle on the floor. She didn’t know if she was supposed to feel something, a chill or a whisper or unease as she entered it. It was, after all, something that wasn’t completely natural. Instead, all she felt was her energy re-centering.

She was going to do this.

She didn’t know why, exactly, they hadn’t just gone for tradition. It seemed tedious to go through a process such as this one, time consuming. And they needed the time, that was what they always said.

Not to mention it was cruel.

Amy had loved them, cherished every moment she’d stolen with the both of them. From the beginning of this, it had been day after day of creativity and dreams realized. So consistent was this flow of positive energy that she felt herself trying not to shatter when they first asked this of her.

Why? Why her?

What good did it do for _her_ to be left, the only one to remember the impact they’d both made on the world, on her _life_? She knew, of course, that they were going to die.

But why didn’t they let her leave them behind like everyone else?

It wasn’t a blessing, she wasn’t happy for them. They secured their freedom the moment midnight came, two flames starting and left to spread, wreaking havoc on everyone else they knew. Amy grit her teeth, swallowed back the burn of her eyes. It was okay to cry, of course, it was probably normal, but she couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Not until she was confident she’d be able to stop.

The sound of an alarm broke the silence, making her start. She raced and quickly shut it off, her eyes squinting at the brightness of her screen. She didn’t read her notifications on purpose, eyes glued to the thin white numbers at the top half of her screen.

_10 minutes left_.

That was nothing.

She could blink and that’d be over with.

_Fuck_ , why couldn’t she just have more of it? Just another hour, she’d even take another _half_ hour.

She’d give up everything just for the privilege of time.

Even quicker steps and Amy was back in the circle, in front of a midnight black casket. She bent down, her hands moved without thinking, tugging and pulling at the heavy wooden lid until it gave with a near-silent creak.

She didn’t know what she expected to see.

Maybe she hoped the darkness worked a little better.

Because that way she wouldn’t have to stare at Ethan’s face, stone-still and so pale she could practically make out the details of it.

She tried to remind herself breathe. He’d always had a boyish face, but with his face devoid of all emotion he looked practically _adolescent_. It made her heart twist painfully in her chest. Of all people, he was far too young, he deserved more time than anyone else. Her right hand hovered over his chest, shaking hard, and she let out a gasp when she finally felt the fabric of his suit. It was crisp, feeling stiff because of the cold weather.

And because of the person wearing it.

She blinked, mindful of time. “You,” she had to fight the lump in her throat, “you were…such a brightness for me, for _us_. I can’t… _ever_ imagine what life would have been like without you in it. Sometimes it just…” she bit her lip until the burn of tears receded once more, “It just feels like we were _waiting_. Waiting for you to find us and show us how much more we could have.” She tried, _tried_ so hard to think of anything else to say to her close friend, but she knew if she opened her mouth again then nothing but sadness would leak out.

Ethan didn’t need his suit stained with tears.

So instead, she allowed herself one last look at him, made her fingers loosen the iron-clad grip she now had on his clothes, stepped back, and closed the lid of his casket as gently as possible.

She stood back upright, adjusting herself and tipping her head back so tears couldn’t keep gathering for the fall.

She felt pathetic, almost.

Everyone knew this was coming, she _knew_ she’d have to do this, lay them to rest in the way they desired. She’d studied the runes, found the location, learned the translations _weeks_ before tonight. Everything was planned ahead of time, and now that she was reaching the end of it, she’d never felt more lost. The pain was sharper than it had ever been.

And it wasn’t even over.

Amy turned around.

Let herself look at that bone-white coffin.

She didn’t have to see him. Didn’t _have_ to say good bye to him.

He’d understand. He wouldn’t judge her for just skipping over this part.

She’d never forgive herself, though.

So she made herself lift the lid, and look directly at his face.

The love of her life.

She’d seen him sleep plenty of times, gotten the chance to stare at that peaceful face for several years. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but at the same time it wasn’t something she’d seen before. Like Ethan, it was the stillness of it, how pale his usually tanned skin appeared. She couldn’t help it, a sob crawled up and choked her. She doubled over, weighed down by the magnitude of what was before her. Seeing Ethan was hard, but this?

This was impossible.

She had to be mindful of time, couldn’t waste whatever was left trying to gather her strength. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a little less hysterical once it was out, then chanced to look at him again.

Not at his face, she kept her gaze zeroed in on his chest. The floral pattern on his vest caught some of the artificial light outside, making it shimmer.

Words wouldn’t come.

With Ethan, she started speaking before she could think about it, just telling him how she felt.

It wasn’t the same with Mark.

She had so little time with him. She should say _something_.

Before he was truly gone.

But they wouldn’t come. Every time she went to open her mouth her chest seized, her eyes stung and her vision blurred. She didn’t dare go back to check her phone, she couldn’t waste time trying to see how little she had left.

The afterlife wasn’t something she ever pondered, it was easier to put off the concept of it. People died, and whatever came next was knowledge only they had. It did no good to question and consider when no one she could talk to would have the correct answer.

She hoped for it now, that wherever the opposite side of here was, her Mark was waiting for her.

She leaned down, kissed his ice-cold lips, and finally let the hot tears fall.

Closing Mark’s coffin felt just as impossible as talking to him, but she made herself do it. As his face fell into obscurity, more sobs broke free. tears bled from her eyes like a fountain. She could feel it, she was out of time. No more goodbyes, no more moments could be taken.

The side of her foot nudged the red canister she had chucked into the center of the circle earlier. Not taking her eyes off of the place her love rested, she picked it up. The liquid remaining inside of it made the object weird and off-balance.

Not that it mattered.

Amy gave one, final glance toward the two most important people in her life, selfish for a moment to steal up until the very last of them.

She’d followed every step. Written down what needed to be done and then completed it appropriately. The marks had been written, the sand spread, the stage set perfectly.

This last part? This was for her.

The smell of gasoline was already permeating the warehouse, but now she could practically taste it. It flattened her hair, odiferous and slimy, but she wouldn’t have to worry about how it felt much longer.

She patted around until she found it, the small bed of matches she’d made sure to bring.

Their death wasn’t meant to be a surprise. Sad, sure, but not a shock. No matter what happened within the previous 365 days, they were going to be laid to rest today. It was planned from conception. Tonight, they’d be leaving for good.

And so was she.

She wondered if _this_ would come as a surprise to the fans, to her boys. She hoped it didn’t. After spending every day with them, working so _closely_ with them until she couldn’t picture life going without, there wasn’t an option.

Did anyone _really_ expect her to stay here, alone?

Well, whether they did or not, it was no matter.

Today felt like forever, she wasn’t interested in feeling what the rest of her days would feel like.

They wanted her to have more time than them, so she’d given them this day. It…it had to count, right? Even if it didn’t, she wasn’t planning on using the rest of what was on her clock. Even if that clock was to end a week from now, she didn’t need that time. Not when there wasn’t anyone to spend it with.

She sat down criss-cross between them, winding down the last few seconds they had together. She dragged a match across its bed, the light of it illuminating the markings on the ground, the boxes her boys laid in, her tear-stained face. Slowly, she lifted the match above her head, looking up at the flea and knowing this was the last thing she’d see.

“To our next adventure, guys.”

Her phone blared with another alarm, right at the stroke of midnight. Flames caught and devoured everything within the circle easily.

Amy wasn’t stuck anymore.

She wasn’t alone.

Well past midnight, the phone had stopped its song. In the emptiness of the space they once occupied, a stray breeze came, spreading ashes and sand across concrete.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in one take with minimal editing.
> 
> The end of UA, the whole concept itself, has really shaken something visceral within me. I've always been a creature of comfort, because the idea of loss makes me feel all that more left alone with the pain. It's hard when you have something you love and then suddenly it's all gone, but experiences like that are unavoidable, so maybe it's better to get used to it. UA was probably worse, since we put our all into it and now there's never going to be enough to bring that feeling back.
> 
> I wanted to play with that idea here, to try and convey how some of us might feel at the loss of the channel. It's an extreme example obviously, but still. Feeling is feeling.
> 
> Memento mori, y'all.


End file.
